Two Roads
by Twinkle
Summary: In the aftermath of Daystar, the Nightstalkers are mopping up the few vampires left behind and trying to accept the fact that their friends didn’t die for nothing. When King makes a stupid mistake on a hunt, he literally drops into the life of Caitlyn
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

I own nothing. The characters and themes portrayed here are the property of D. S Goyer and New Line Cinema. I have borrowed them without permission, and I hope that neither they, nor the actors who played King, et al with such panache, will mind much if I play for a while in the Blade universe and return them (relatively) unharmed.

The only thing I do have claim to is Caitlyn Thomas, and any O.Cs I introduce later.

Summary:

In the aftermath of Daystar, the Nightstalkers are mopping up the few vampires left behind and trying to accept the fact that their friends didn't die for nothing.

When King makes a stupid mistake on a hunt, he literally drops into the life of Caitlyn Thomas, a reclusive woman with a secret. It would be ignorant to assume that vampires are the only supernaturals in the world…

**Two Roads.**

Chapter 1.

In the midst of a quiet neighbourhood on the outskirts of LA, full of large, stone-walled, turn-of-the-century townhouses and lush, manicured gardens, a pitched and bloody battle was raging. Grunts, shouts and the horrible wet smack of flesh as it contacted wall or weapon filled the air. Silhouettes against the inky blackness of the sky, struggling for balance on the rooftop, two figures lunged and spun and fell oblivious to the world around them – locked in a fight to the death.

In a daring move, the shorter of the two ducked under a flying fist, tackled its opponent and sent him tumbling down the slick tiles of the roof. Standing back, it watched as fingers scrabbled for purchase, missed the ornate guttering and disappeared over the edge of the world with a shouted oath, before landing with an ear-splitting crash on the ground below. A low cackle filled the air before the slim form took off along the roof-ridge, heading towards the city at a steady lope. Its opponent was already a dim and dusty memory in the dark recesses of its mind as moonlight glinted off a pair of milky white fangs it bared in a grin. It was time to hunt.

The sound of the sky falling woke Caitlyn Thomas from a deep and dream-filled sleep. Blinking in the dim light of her room she tried to gather her scrambled thoughts together enough to figure out what the hell was going on. She still hadn't worked it out when, minutes later, she crept downstairs with a baseball bat in her hand and pink bed-socks on her feet to investigate. Maybe she'd had a break-in?

The kitchen? No, all clear…no axe-wielding lunatics or burglars there.

The lounge? Nothing happening there either, just the sleepy form of her altogether-useless guard dog Sam snuggled on the sofa.

It had to be the dining room then, she told herself unconfidently, taking a better grip on the worn handle of her bat and a deep breath to steel her nerves.

She tiptoed – as best one could in bed-socks – through the door, hugged the shadowy wall like they did in the movies and rounded the end of the long oak table, only to stop and stare at the wanton destruction before her. Every square inch of the solarium in front of her was covered in broken glass, wood-chips and mortar. Above her head, a gaping hole now existed where an intricate Victorian glass ceiling had been a few minutes before, and in the corner her favourite plant was mangled and squished to the point of being unrecognisable. In fact, it was so unbelievable that she almost put the bat down to pinch herself, before she caught sight of a black lump in the middle of it all and came abruptly to attention. She frowned at it, trying to work out, without going any closer, what it was. A large bird? A space alien?

It groaned. And moved. She jumped and inched backward, the bat held high in front of her, her heart racing. Curses! Why hadn't she picked up the ornamental sword on the hall wall instead of this bat?

Maybe she should call 911. Yes, that would be the best idea, call the cavalry and have them take care of the strange black lump and the crushed solarium while she went back to bed and got back into that dream she'd been enjoying about Johnny Depp, a tropical island and a bottle of massage oil. But then she remembered why she couldn't do that, and was back at square one – afraid, pyjama-clad and clutching a baseball bat as if her life depended on it.

The lump swore, in a voice laced with pain and frustration, and a little bit of concern invaded her fear and preyed on her soft heart. Maybe it was hurt, bleeding even, possibly even fatally, and all over the floor of her solarium. What if it died? And when the cops got here it turned out it was an innocent person, just out for a stroll at night-time before they'd unfortunately and inexplicably fallen through the roof of her solarium. She'd be held responsible, possibly even charged with something, and then…her sleep-fuddled brain didn't register the lack of common sense in this train of thought, and before she knew what she was doing she was gingerly walking towards the lump, and wincing as glass crackled underfoot.

As she neared it, it moved again and flopped over onto its back, another oath escaping as sharp glass dug in. She found herself staring into a dark pair of eyes that blinked, tried to focus and failed. They shut tightly while a blood-spattered hand lifted and shakily rubbed a lacerated forehead, and Caitlyn stood there uncomfortably wondering what to do. The black lump was a guy, visibly injured even in the darkness, and all her salves and bandages were upstairs. That was two flights of wood and carpet away, he didn't look in any shape to walk that far, and she knew she couldn't carry him, so what to do? Ah yes, that was it…wait, did he say something?

"Ouch…fucking bastard…who the hell has a roof made entirely of glass in their house?" he muttered, blinking at her again, and feeling around his belt in a deliberate fashion for something. That something turned out to be a really, really large gun, with a red laser targeting thing on the end as she discovered when it was pointed at her seconds later and its owner demanded, "Who the fuck are you?" in a slightly hoarse voice.

So much for an innocent person out for a walk, more a gun-toting lunatic with a slightly sinister beard and blood on nearly every bare bit of skin (and there was quite a lot of that, she appreciated).

"I…I-I'm…" she stuttered, the baseball bat shaking at her side, wide eyes staring at the barrel of the gun as it wobbled unsteadily in the general direction of her face. Dark eyes blazed at her for a few more seconds before the effects of falling from the rooftop through the solarium to the concrete floor below caught up with their owner, and he passed out with an audible thud. The gun dropped with him, thankfully, and Caitlyn's heart started beating again as her lungs took a grateful gasping breath. This was supposed to be a quiet neighbourhood, damn it!

She had paid good money for this house for that specific reason. There weren't supposed to be madmen brandishing deadly weapons anywhere nearby, her solarium was _not_ supposed to be shattered into a million different pieces, and she wasn't supposed to be entertaining the idea of maybe, possibly figuring out a way to get said madman upstairs in order to bandage his cuts and bruises. She should be calling 911, calmly reporting a break-in, and retiring to the kitchen to pour a large glass of something strong and preferably aged ten years in an oak barrel.

Something was stopping her though, and as she couldn't work out what it was and was frankly too tired to care, she settled for dropping her bat, and knelt by the stranger to gently put a hand on his shoulder. With a sigh she shut her eyes and began to murmur something quietly. Barely noticeable at first, his body began to rise slowly and a little shakily until it was about three feet off the floor. Caitlyn stood, opening her eyes, and nodded in satisfaction. Finally, those months of hard work had paid off. He was her first successful levitation. Now, all that remained was to get the body upstairs, which was easier said than done, she realised, when a flick of her wrist in the general direction of the door only seem to make the body sway in mid air. This was going to take a little more effort than she'd anticipated. Johnny Depp and the massage oil would have to wait.

A/N:

I haven't written in a while, and have never written for this genre, so I'm not sure how well/badly I'm doing. Please read and review so I can make it better 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer:

I own nothing. The characters and themes portrayed here are the property of D. S Goyer and New Line Cinema. I have borrowed them without permission, and I hope that neither they, nor the actors who played King, et al with such panache, will mind much if I play for a while in the Blade universe and return them (relatively) unharmed.

The only thing I do have claim to is Caitlyn Thomas, and any O.Cs I introduce later.

Summary:

In the aftermath of Daystar, the Nightstalkers are mopping up the few vampires left behind and trying to accept the fact that their friends didn't die for nothing.

When King makes a stupid mistake on a hunt, he literally drops into the life of Caitlyn Thomas, a reclusive woman with a secret. It would be ignorant to assume that vampires are the only supernaturals in the world…

A/N:

Thanks to Kismet2, Nightengale (yeah, King and broken glass, definitely), FinalSpirit and mj (yeah, that was the effect I was after, glad you liked it) for your encouraging reviews. I picked up a copy of the 'book of the movie' the other day, and had to make a few changes on discovering the 'real' ending to Blade: Trinity. Sorry it took so long guys! This is longer than I'd intended. Read and Review, please.

**Chapter 2.**

Sunlight streamed through a huge window, highlighting a cast-iron fireplace, an Impressionist painting, a pile of pots and bundled fabric on a table and the bandaged form of a man on a bed, loosely covered with blankets. As the light hit his face, Hannibal King stirred, eyelids flickering as if he was dreaming. He believed he was.

It was early evening, and he and Abby were tracking a couple of inexperienced vampires who'd been spotted by one of the surveillance cells a few nights back. In the aftermath of Blade's showdown with Drake and the release of Daystar, very few vampires still lived in LA – either through succumbing to the virus, or because they'd left for other cities in a mass exodus in a futile attempt to escape it.

Some remained however, and without Sommer's expertise to figure out why they hadn't caught the bug, all the remaining resistance could do was what they did best; pest control.

It seemed to be low-level bloodsuckers that stuck around, inexperienced kids who, without 'older' vampires to guide them, were running riot over the city and causing havoc. Easy prey really.

Blade had since moved on and was probably doing whatever it was he did when there weren't any vampires to hunt. Meditating in Tibet? Designing a line of all-black, all-leather, all-purpose outfits for the fashion-conscious hunters out there? Relaxing in a tropical paradise with a cocktail in one hand and a curvaceous island girl in the other?

King had no clue, but he had left the Nightstalkers behind to mop up any remaining dregs, taking off in the night without so much as a polite goodbye.

Not that they really minded, it gave them a chance to regroup after the murder of their friends and family, a chance to heal and to figure out their next big move. Now that Daystar was no longer a dream, it was just possible that at some point in the not too distant future they wouldn't need to get up with the setting of the sun, strap on an arsenal and go out hunting. And what then?

That was a while away however, and until then those two vamps still had to be dusted, and fast given how they were clearly intent on taking that unsuspecting couple kissing under a streetlamp out for dinner.

Abby notched a Sundog-tipped arrow to her bow, and signalled for him to cut around behind them, for a two-pronged attack. He winked at her and nodded before taking off at a run, crouched low, ducking down an alleyway to creep up behind vamp number one, who was wearing an eye-catching ensemble in fuchsia leather. Waiting for Abby to make the first move his mind wandered a little and he wondered; was it a prerequisite for being a vamp, having no dress sense? He couldn't remember Danica ever having much of one, but then with Danica he was more focussed on trying to survive another night of hell under her hands. Maybe when you got bitten, any dress sense you had automatically went out the window, along with your soul and your sense of humour, he thought wryly. But hey, that was no excuse really, because he'd always made sure to be extra-stylish when he'd been turned. He shook his head at that one. Shit…my humour's really getting warped. Time for some new material.

A near-blinding flash of light kicked him into gear and he burst out of the alley, electronic pistols drawn, to see vamp two disintegrate into a pile of smouldering ash, a steel arrow nestling in the middle. Vamp one turned on him with a snarl, as did the couple under the street lamp, and he realised with a little surprise that it was a trap. Not a very good one, but a trap nonetheless. Pumping silver bullets into the fuchsia-clad vamp to his left he spun to take on the couple under the lamp as Abby vaulted from the top of a dumpster nearby to land with her usual grace beside him, a cloud of drifting ash all that was left of the fashion-monstrosity. They faced the couple together. The couple that seemed to have produced a sword and some sort of axe out of thin air. Huh.

"I'll take the guy, okay? My mom told me not to hit women…" he quipped, jamming his pistols in their holsters and reaching for the bone-jack strapped to his back. No sense in messing around. Abby rolled her eyes in response, but nodded all the same and launched herself at the woman, U.V. laser arc replacing her compound bow as the weapon of choice for any discerning vampire hunter.

The female dropped into a defensive stance to prepare for Abby's onslaught, while her companion took one look at King's gun and ran in the opposite direction.

"What the fuck? Oh come on!" he groused, shouldering the gun and taking off after his quarry, shouting, "I'll be right back!" to Abby, who was in the thick of a fight, and slowly gaining the upper hand.

It took him a few minutes to catch up with the male vamp, his shoulder not fully healed from Danica's high-heeled sadism, and by the time he did they were on the fringes of the suburbs, where the sky-scrapers of the city gave way to stone townhouses and gardens. He caught sight of his bizarrely wimpy prey scrambling up the drainpipe of one such house, and resolutely clambered after him, determined not to lose him in this kind of neighbourhood, a bloodsucker's paradise filled with sleepy, unsuspecting humans.

Meanwhile, Abby was beginning to notice a few odd things about her opponent – namely that she didn't have any fangs, and didn't seem to be tiring, even though they'd been sparring for a good twenty minutes. Both of these facts were weird, but explainable, Abby reasoned. She could be a familiar – explaining her hanging with the vamps – and high on amphetamines or some other kind of drug.

Either way it didn't matter, she was going down, Abby knew that as certainly as she knew that the sky was blue, and was proven right when a swift downswing with the laser arc caught the woman under her ear and neatly severed her head. She'd have a body to deal with afterwards, but too bad. They could find somewhere to dump it. Familiars didn't get any quarter, they'd made their bed with vampires, now they could lie in it.

Dumbfounded she stood and watched as a wailing column of flame engulfed her opponent soon after, leaving no trace of a body, not even ash. Familiars, in her experience, did not spontaneously combust.

Well that was weird, she thought, folding up the laser arc and calling for their ride to come pick her up. Weird, but she could live with it. After all, the familiar or whatever it was was gone, and that was all that really mattered.

Merrick – a transfer from another cell – screeched to a stop beside her in a battered SUV, and together they set off in pursuit of King knowing that, even if he didn't need any help, he'd need a ride back to the Honeycomb. It was a good thing they all wore beacons, she decided, having absolutely no clue where her acerbic partner had got to, and she switched on the hand-held locator Merrick handed her as he navigated the deserted backstreets of the city with familiar ease. A tiny blip put King somewhere on the outskirts, and the SUV swung around in a U-turn on the highway as Merrick corrected his course in response. Abby frowned, what the hell was King doing there?

This is weird, King thought, exchanging punches with the vamp on the roof of the house, why did he run all the way out here? It's not as if there's any kind of vampire underground in the suburbs of LA, so there's no one here to help him.

It wasn't until the vamp started to bob and weave, while balancing like a pro on the knife-edge of the roof gable that he realised; he wanted to get King on unfamiliar ground. The city was King's playground, he'd fought for so long against its backdrop that he practically breathed car fumes and neon gas. There he had the upper hand, and the vamp knew it.

It, however, seemed a little more experienced in a residential environment, and in split seconds between punches and axe-swipesKing wondered if it was from out of town. If so, why come here? Surely the word had spread by now that the resistance had a new and extremely efficient weapon against the night-walking bloodsuckers. And why hadn't he succumbed already? If Daystar was working as Sommers intended it to, he should be a grey, shrivelled corpse by now – wherever he was from. Nightstalker cells were reporting that the virus was spreading all over the northern hemisphere, carried by humans and fleeing vamps alike, leaving no-one with an unusual dietary requirement untouched. How had he escaped it?

He didn't have time to think on it more, as the vampire ducked what King had thought to be a sure right-hook and tackled him round the middle. As he slid down the tiling, and over the edge to the ground below, the only things on his mind were some choice swear words and the knowledge that however he landed, it was going to hurt.

With a start his eyes flew open, the pain that flooded his body as he impacted the ground in his 'dream' replaced by an all-pervading sense of wellbeing. Looking around the room, he registered cream drapes and some god-awful painting on the wall opposite, and the crisp cotton sheets and soft blanket covering him as he lay on possibly the most comfortable bed ever. Where the hell was he?

The surroundings were unfamiliar, somewhat expensive and luxurious, and for a split second he thought somehow Danica had got hold of him, and he was back in her penthouse. Then he remembered, with a sweet satisfaction, her death as Daystar did its work at the Phoenix Tower, and he relaxed imperceptibly. Still, those horrid memories aside, that did nothing to explain where he was. Either the Nightstalkers had had an unexpected windfall, and refurbished the Honeycomb or relocated, or he was somewhere else entirely.

One thing was for certain, it was deathly quiet. That unsettled him, used as he was to the constant noise of the city, and the background creaking and groaning of the Honeycomb.

Suddenly, somewhere distant, a door opened and shut and quiet footsteps padded their way upstairs and in his direction. Spurred into action, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, frowning as he did so at the multitude of bandages on his torso and limbs. When did he get hurt? He hadn't been injured since the takedown with Drake, and…

Forget that, right now he had to get up, find his guns – or any kind of weapon - and some clothes too, he added, noticing his state of undress with a little amusement. Not that he cared much either way – communal showers on the barge had obliterated any shame or anxiety about his body – but it certainly made for an easier fight if you didn't have to worry about certain parts of your anatomy being obvious targets for your opponent.

Starting towards what he thought was a cupboard King came up short against a shimmering energy barrier that said 'hello' by way of a short electric buzz, before fading away to give the appearance of nothing being there at all.

Sucking the burnt finger, he tentatively touched another space of air to his left and swore when the palm of his hand received another short jolt. What the…

Just then the door swung open, and in one fluid movement King turned toward it and grabbed a sheet from the bed to wrap around himself. Better to receive company in a sheet than none at all!

A tray entered, bobbing lightly in the air, carrying a bowl of what looked like vegetable soup, along with fresh bandages and a jug of water.

King stared at it quizzically, a feeling of surrealism starting to play at the edges of his mind. He was either hallucinating, dreaming, or Abby was starting to put something stronger than sugar in his coffee.

Following it was a woman, her petite form clothed in jeans and a t-shirt with a faded Lakers emblem, a huge book in one hand and the other presumably directing the passage of the tray with flicks and waves. She stopped abruptly when she saw him, and as her eyes went wide with shock the tray crashed to the floor, soup and water flooding the plush cream carpet. Silence reigned for about ten seconds before they both began to speak; King angrily demanding to know where he was, what the fuck was around his bed and who the hell she was in one long run on sentence, and the woman muttering something about knowing that would happen, and stupid 'personal gain' clauses. Abruptly they both shut up and, knowing she pretty much held all the cards, he gestured that she should talk first.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, bending to pick up the bandages and the jug without taking her eyes off him. It was patently obvious that she didn't trust him, but that feeling was mutual.

"Peachy keen, thanks for asking, now would you mind explaining to me what the hell kind of device you have around this bed?" He tried his best to keep bad language down to a minimum, she didn't look like the kind of girl who'd appreciate it, especially since she did freaky things with kitchen trays, but it was hard considering how cranky he was.

"Something to make sure you didn't decide, halfway through the night, to get out of bed and shoot or stab me in my sleep with one of the many guns and knives you carry about your person. What's with that anyway? You've enough of an arsenal there to take out a small country…compensating for something are we?" she smiled a little at that, and wrung water out of the bandages into the jug, before using them to mop up the soup. She knew he wasn't. Most of his clothes had been ruined last night and the rest had had to come off so she could bandage all the cuts and nicks the glass had left on his really great physique. **Sigh**. All the great-looking guys these days were either gay or nutso military obsessives.

King scowled, although a small part of him wanted to laugh, and poked the air again. Maybe it wasn't…**Zzap**

"Ow! Bitch…" another finger joined the first in his mouth as he grumbled at her and the stupid barrier she'd somehow erected around the bed. He respected the fact that she'd done it, could see the sense in it, but he hated being caged like an animal.

"Whmmerroo?" he asked around the fingers, repeating it without them when she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Caitlyn, my name is Caitlyn," she replied, moving a little closer and peering at the bloodstained bandages on his chest, "How do they feel?"

He prodded at them gingerly, and looked a little surprised when they didn't hurt. Peeling one back, expecting blood and an open wound, he was met with a pale pink scar and relatively clean skin. Huh. Quickly he stripped the rest of them off, including the one on the shoulder where Danica's stiletto had gouged him. Pale pink, healthy skin stared back at him. Okay, that was weird. How long had he been here?

"Overnight, don't you remember?" his puzzled expression said not.

"You fell through my ceiling?" Nope.

"Destroyed my solarium?" No joy.

"Pointed a gun at me and nearly gave me a heart attack?" Now that did get a reaction, although not quite the one she'd hoped for.

"Where's my stuff?" Damn, she'd been hoping he wouldn't notice she'd confiscated his armoury.

"Somewhere safe," she evaded the question.

"I want...no, I need it. Now," he was insistent. She shook her head.

"I don't think so…not until you tell me why you fell through my roof, and why you have what look to be stakes made out of silver in your backpack. Explain mister, and it'd better be good, or I'm not letting you out of there, and you can stay wrapped in that sheet for eternity. Clothes are out of the equation too until you give me a reason my solarium is in a million pieces!" The irritation and anger from last night came back in full force, and she drew herself up to her full height of five foot four and even went so far as to point accusingly. Wow. She wasn't usually this assertive, not even with Sam when he dug up her tulips, but something about this guy ticked her off. The fact that he'd made her drop her lunch perhaps? His crankiness with her when all she'd done was help him, and against her better judgement? His standing there in nothing more than a bed-sheet, with that sculpted chest of his on casual display?

Ugh. Something about him just got under her skin and made her twitchy. She preferred him unconscious.

His eventual reply didn't help her mood any.

"Well, I would sweetcheeks, if I could remember what happened, and where the hell I was when it did…"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:

I own nothing. The characters and themes portrayed here are the property of D. S Goyer and New Line Cinema etc. See Chapter 1 for full disclaimer.

The only thing I do have claim to is Caitlyn Thomas, and any O.Cs I introduce later.

Summary:

In the aftermath of Daystar, the Nightstalkers are mopping up the few vampires left behind and trying to accept the fact that their friends didn't die for nothing.

When King makes a stupid mistake on a hunt, he literally drops into the life of Caitlyn Thomas, a reclusive woman with a secret. It would be ignorant to assume that vampires are the only supernaturals in the world…

A/N: Two lovely reviews recently dug me out of a 'final-year-at-Uni' rut, and I dusted this off. Hope it was worth the wait people…let me know if not!

Semester ends in two weeks, so hopefully I'll be updating regularly from then on. Thanks for the encouragement to Rogue and WingedSeraph!

**Chapter 3.**

"Well, I would sweetcheeks, if I could remember what happened, and where the hell I was when it did…" he threw a charming grin her way that had more of an effect than she liked on her sensibilities before saying, "…care to fill me in?"

Caitlyn frowned. Wait a minute, how had it gone from her interrogating to him asking her questions again? Clearly she needed to brush up on her negotiating skills, but at the moment keeping her mind off his nicely-muscled chest and on the matter of his weaponry in her basement would be a step in the right direction. Had the tiled floor of her solarium done more damage than she'd thought and he'd lost his memory? To test her theory she asked,

"Can you remember your name?" and was a rewarded with a snigger for her concern, and a sarcastic,

"I can, but the question is…can you?" followed by a suggestive wink. She could literally feel the heat rise to her cheeks at his implication, which only fuelled his obvious enjoyment of the situation.

Irritation replaced the embarrassment, and the glint in her eye when she looked back up at him wiped the smirk from his face.

That was it, she'd had enough. As if it wasn't bad enough that he'd woken her up with his impromptu entry, she hadn't made it back to bed for worrying about the madman in her guest bedroom and had spent half the night memorising protection charms and wards to ease her fears.

Top that off with his making her spill her lunch all over her recently cleaned cream wool rug, and his arrogant attitude, and she was fit to do something drastic and possibly power-fuelled. Hang the consequences! He'd already seen her levitate the tray, so it wasn't as if she had to hide what she was.

Clarity of thought was gone, caution over exposure of her gift (or curse, depending on her mood) fled with it, and she could feel the energy bubbling under her skin as she stared all six feet something of him down. Now, if she could just remember the incantation for that object-combustion spell she'd looked at the night before last, she could be rid of the ungrateful jerk and get back to her quiet, albeit boring life, happy in the knowledge that the first person to witness her powers in over a year was effectively silenced forever.

The muted ring of the doorbell cut through her whirling thoughts and was as effective as a bucket of ice water in dampening the energy boiling up inside her. She blinked a little dazedly, what had she been thinking? This sort of uncontrollable display of her ability was precisely why she'd moved here, to this quiet neighbourhood where nobody knew who or what she was.

What if she'd missed? Or worse, lost control? The whole house could have gone up in one giant explosion, and the life she was rebuilding would be over. The idea that she'd come close to murdering him didn't really register. That thought hid, to resurface and plague her conscience later.

"Are you gonna get that?" the sheet-clad guy asked, staring at her like she'd lost her mind. You and me both, bub, she thought, nodding distractedly and wondering what it was she was supposed to be getting, when the bell rang again, insistently.

Ah, that'd be it.

Waiting until the odd woman, Caitlyn he reminded himself, had closed the door, King set about trying to escape from the electric prison around the bed. Using a pillow, which began to singe and smoke after the fourth attempt, he systematically tested its boundaries and discovered, unhappily, that it extended all the way round and as far above the bed as he could reach. That left the floor, and he doubted somehow that he could tunnel through it without being noticed.

Wait a sec, what was that, at the corner of the bed?

Turning his thoughts to the floor had meant he caught sight of something there, sparkling in the sunlight. Closer inspection revealed a pale pink crystal, and three others like it, forming a square around him. Huh. It seemed a little too convenient that they should be there and, as a quick test showed, at the exact perimeter of his prison. Did they somehow form it? They didn't seem fixed to anything, so it should be relatively easy to break out he thought. He quickly revised his theory when another burnt finger revealed the barrier was _between_ him and the crystals.

Another pillow was sacrificed to make sure that was the case, and then he slumped back onto the bed, stumped. An exasperated groan escaped him. He'd found ways out of more complex cages than this before, why on earth was this one so difficult?

Downstairs, Caitlyn smelled burning and mentally cursed her unwelcome guest. The persistent doorbell ringer, who turned out to be her neighbour, also caught the scent and made a point of it.

"Is that burning I smell dear?" Mrs Harris asked, trying once more to peer into the dim recesses of Caitlyn's house by craning her neck at an unnatural angle to negotiate the partially closed door. Smiling even more widely and forcedly, Caitlyn shook her head and drew the door closed a fraction more.

"Just my breakfast, couldn't get the hang of toast this morning…you know how the smell lingers," she replied, rethinking her earlier decision not to use the combustion spell a little.

Maude Harris, devoted wife to Stanley Harris and neighbourhood busybody, nodded understandingly. She knew how it was, why only last week Stanley had made himself tea while she'd been at bridge with Cecilia and Gladys and had ruined her best frying pan by burning eggs to its non-stick surface. And the smell! Goodness, it'd got into every room of the house and hung around for days and, as she explained to Caitlyn, not even bicarb had removed it.

Caitlyn, anxious to get rid of her, interrupted her anecdote with a hesitant cough and smiled beatifically when Maude's annoyed glance shot up at her.

"Was there a reason you called?" she asked, trying her best to be polite but not caring much if she was rude. Since the day Caitlyn moved in, Maude Harris had done nothing but be nosy, interfering, and overly helpful. All under the guise of welcoming her to the area and being motherly to a young woman so obviously alone and bereft of family, of course, but it annoyed Caitlyn something chronic.

It didn't occur to her that maybe she was too easily annoyed by little things like that, and that some therapeutic help with the problem might benefit her situation because far as she was concerned, other people were the ones with an issue.

She was just fine, thank you very much! But back to the problem at hand and Mrs Harris' head was once more nosing into her hallway as muffled groaning floated down from upstairs.

This time Caitlyn swore aloud, and then looked appropriately chastised when Maude tutted her annoyance.

"Really dear, there's no excuse for such language…"

Caitlyn nodded, and quickly covered the next, louder groan with,

"It's Sam, my golden retriever? He hasn't been too well lately; I've been meaning to take him to the vet's. Some sort of virus I think…I was hoping it'd clear up on its own, but…" the mention of his name had the dog's ears up, and had he been less lazy he'd have probably raced to his owner's side, but he wasn't and Caitlyn thanked her stars he preferred the sofa to walkies. Maude looked suitably concerned and was about to offer advice when,

"…I should probably go make sure he's okay," Caitlyn made to close the door, thankful for an excuse to leave.

"Hang on a minute dearie!" Maude pushed the door open again, and was rewarded with a glimpse of the hallway, and the sparkling length of the scimitar sword hung on the wall next to the coat-rack. Her eyes went wide, and Caitlyn could practically see her mind whirling and turning with possibilities and gossip. Luckily she remembered herself, and her reason for calling, within seconds and hastily enquired,

"Stanley and I wanted to know if you were alright. We heard such a racket last night, and Stanley thought maybe you had a burglar, so we called the police. Did they find anything?"

So that was who it was. She'd been wondering about the origin of two police constables and a sergeant who'd mysteriously appeared on her doorstep at half past one that morning. A spot check, perhaps?

She'd managed to get rid of them, but only after they'd made a quick sweep of her house to 'make sure the premises are secure, ma'am'. It had cost her a lot, as maintaining a glamour to cover something as large as the destruction of her solarium in front of three inquisitive policemen was something she was out of practice at. They'd finally left, with assurances that they were only a phone call away should anything untoward occur, and she'd been left slumped in a heap on the hall floor recovering from the complex spell-cast, while her guest slumbered peacefully upstairs.

An indiscreet and annoyed cough picked her mind up from the hall carpet. What's going on? Where am I? Mrs Harris' face a few inches in front of and below her own made her blink in a startled fashion. It held a bizarre mixture of anger and concern, and as a result was a little distorted. She fought down the urge to laugh.

"…Caitlyn, are you quite alright?"

Caitlyn nodded, unwilling to open her mouth and let a giggle escape. Now was not the time, especially since suspicion had joined the emotions on Maude's face and her eyebrows seemed knotted together.

Another thump upstairs. Was he incapable of sitting still? Her increasing level of annoyance squelched the giggle, and caused her to rapidly remember the subtle nuances of the combustion spell. Just more peep out of Mr-muscular-madman and he'd feel the full force of her wrath.

She tried projecting 'be a good boy and sit quietly' his way but annoyingly, unlike fireballs and levitation, telepathy was a power consigned wholly to fantasy novels and the movies, and an oath that had Mrs Harris' eyebrows disappearing into her tightly curled perm floated down seconds later. Damn the man!

An expectant silence reigned for all of a minute, then Caitlyn smiled brightly, forcefully yanked the door out of Maude's hands and cheerily hollered, "Thanks for checking on me, must go…Sam's…erm, calling. Byeee!" as the door slammed shut in her neighbour's face.

She leant against its solid presence for a moment, intending to take a few deep, cleansing breaths and maybe hum a soothing mantra before venturing upstairs to sort out her decidedly unwelcome 'visitor', but it wasn't to be.

The doorbell rang again, insistently this time, and its musical tones were hotly followed by some equally insistent pounding on the wood two inches from her left ear. For the love of the Goddess, was there no peace to be had? Mrs Harris was taking this 'neighbourly-love' thing slightly too far.

Growling softly, but fixing some semblance of a smile on her face, Caitlyn opened the door and started to tell her to leave, only to stop and blink stupidly at the people on her doorstep.

Two black-clad, weapon-toting, so-athletic-it-made-her-wince persons stood and, well, glared in her general direction. Somehow she didn't think they were selling girl-scout cookies, and it looked like her day was going to get spectacularly more complicated, and quite possibly worse, before it got better. Fabulous!

Noting their appearance her mind added two and two, divided by four, multiplied by six, carried the one and made the logical connection.

Sighing heavily she resigned herself to the facts and grudgingly said,

"You'd better come in…I guess you're after the nuisance in my guestroom…"


End file.
